Peripheral Vision
by Darknightdestiny
Summary: VinTif. Vincent is mesmorized by Tifa as she gives Cid a dancing lesson. For thelittletree.


**Peripheral Vision**

Rachel "D" Winslow

For  
Thelittletree

Only for him.

A casual observer in the background, cloaked in the shadows and far from the pale moonlight streaming in through the skylights, he was far from the center of attention. No, this was not his time or his place, but for one moment he could pretend. He could pretend that he was the one grasping her hand, cradling the small of her back in the middle of the room. And he would tell her...

If it were only him...

He had caught her twirling in the reflection of the mirror, mounted opposite the swiveling bar stool he had been sitting on. It was only a brief mental note, an aside in his mind, until it quickly had turned to captivation. He had found her a welcome presence in his line of sight, and an irresistable vision she was. Unable to push it aside he had turned to watch, and regrettably, he had been incapable of breaking his concentration on her ever since.

His eyes never left her form as it lighted around the room. He had committed to memory every curve of her body, from the graceful length of her neck and the fleeting reaches of her arms down to the soft bend of the back of her knee just above her calf and the arches of her feet. Her body was perfectly supported by only her toes, and his sight was caught on the fabric of her dress and how it cascaded like gentle, flowing water from the slender waist it so hugged.

Her hair trailed behind her like the tail of a comet when she spun, settling once again on her backside with each pause. She never missed a single beat, her soft steps coming to rest on the floor at exactly the right moment. Poor Cid was doing everything he could to keep up with her.

The pilot's worn face was twisted in confusion as he fumbled with each move, trying his best to retain some shred of dignity. His face told the lie that it wasn't all his fault, but Vincent knew better. The man couldn't dance to save his life, which was precisely why she had asked him to join her.

She had managed to escape having her feet stepped upon by a natural fluidity present in all her movements. Though her feet touched the floor in all manner of angles, she was kept afloat by her innate sense of balance and that swagger of her hips that he found so seductive. Above all, she was most patient and kind; it was believed that she would be able to teach him because of these qualities. If they could withstand a lengthy enough session, then perhaps the concept wouldn't be lost on him.

The rest of the patrons laughed and cheered in drunken humor, but Vincent sat silently at the counter, four short glasses of lonely ice at his back, forgotten long ago. Perhaps the bourbon had something to do with it, but he had convinced himself that alchohol never brought about a change in him; it merely loosened his inhibitions and allowed him to be honest in his actions with relation to what he truly thought. In Cid's words, on the rare occassion that Vincent drank, liquor "gave 'im the balls" to do what he really wanted. This had earned the pilot a good laugh from the rest of the group months ago during his thirty-third birthday, when Vincent had made a highly suggestive comment about the nature of Barrett's sailor suit fetish. But whether Vincent would act on an opportunity or not wasn't solely dependent on drink.

After all, he still had his dignity.

That was more than he could say for the crass bastard. His lip curled upward at his own sense of humor. No, in order for him to pull a stunt that others would chalk up to his being 'under the influence', he would have to want it badly enough.

And he did.

Vincent felt a small hand come to rest softly on his shoulder, and then he felt a light pushing against him. He looked up to his left; little Marlene held onto him for balance as she sat herself down atop the counter, idly swinging her legs back and forth over the side as children often do. From her position, she was able to look him in the eye, and she flashed him a quick smile before they both turned their attention back to the main attraction.

"Tifa's so pretty."

Vincent smiled at the young girl's admission, knowing very well that children didn't consider the same things that adults did. Where Marlene saw aesthetic perfection that she would no doubt aspire to, Vincent saw a lovely lady of class, intelligence, inner strength and beauty as well as outside herself, and a shining light that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Of course Marlene thought Tifa was a nice person, but he hardly imagined that she associated the two.

"I was just thinking the very same thing..."

He called for the assistant bartender, a tan, boyish looking man who was probably trying to work himself through a better education. Overly charming for such a youth, and yet it helped him acquire the tips he wanted. But if he ever tried anything on Tifa, Vincent knew exactly how to put him in his place. He put the idea that the boy's assets might have helped him get the job far out of his mind. He knew Tifa better than that; she was a woman of standards, and decent taste. Or perhaps she wasn't as socially timid as he had thought? No, Tifa was a woman with whom affections ran deep. This was one-of-a-kind, novel, heavenly Tifa. She would never degrade herself with such a heinous thing. There was no way in hell that she would ever consider a purely physical situation just because of a pretty face.

No way in hell.

With that resolution firmly in place, he ordered another drink and a virgin fruit slush for Marlene, which she accepted gladly. She sipped on hers, ice chunks and all, through a tiny straw until he leaned over the counter to grab a wider one meant for frozen drinks. Wondering if he would lose his nerve before the night was over, and a bit smug that the bartender wasn't any good, he downed his bourbon in less than a minute. He bet himself that the boy's character ran shallow as the residue in his glass. At the very least, he hoped as much.

Hoots and hollers from the many patrons that night had forced a decent amount of expletives through the pilot's chapped lips. He was awkward next to his partner, and unwelcoming toward the loud comments resonating throughout the room. He didn't care that they were all in good fun and that no one meant him any harm. He didn't even care if they found him adorable, wobbling to and fro in the arms of a clearly talented woman. He damned their fun at his expense.

How had he ever been persuaded to join her in the first place? Perhaps the whiskey had something to do with it.

The dance abruptly ended when the man in the chair closest to the dancing duo wailed, "Grab 'em!" inbetween sips of lager, not to mention through the half-eaten slurry in his mouth. Cid stepped back from Tifa, told the man that he'd be "wearing his ass as a hat" if he didn't "shut his yap", and that if he had a problem with it, he would gladly take him outside and "break his fuckin' jaw". He did, in fact, shut his yap. But Cid was finished for the night, and they had all been so wrapped up in their own burdens that they'd forgotten about Yuffie, who was probably causing some sort of mischief outside. He stormed off to find her, waving a fist at the man, a warning to anyone who might try a thing or two with Tifa the moment he was gone.

Tifa made her way to the bar, ignoring every stranger on her way there. Her only goal was to make it to the counter in one piece, to see a familiar face. She approached Vincent, who eyed her cautiously through his dark bangs, a refreshing contrast to the closely cropped hair in the back of his head, which he'd only recently cut short. Marlene held her drink out, begging her to try it.

Tifa took a small sip from the glass and handed it back to Marlene. "Thank you," she beamed, proud to have instilled generousity and a joy in others' fulfillment in the young girl. Marlene hopped off the counter and scurried into the back office.

"...That was kind of you," Vincent stated softly, once the crowd had hushed.

She laughed. "Maybe soon he won't be so afraid to ask Shera to dance with him."

There was a moment of silence between the two as the youth behind the counter finally got around to clearing away the glasses littering its surface. Once he had gone, Vincent spoke again.

"You are a wonderful dancer."

She laughed again, locking her fingers behind her and rocking back and forth on her toes, a habit she had held for quite some time. She smiled at him, and the straightening of her arms accentuated her chest in a way he dared not mention, though he'd seen her do it time and time again. He assumed she was unaware of its effect on him, and tried to focus his attention on her face, despite the obvious distraction, which was quickly becoming a mental obstruction to what he was planning to say. In the end, he turned his head back to face the rest of the room.

"I try." Her voice died to a whisper. "How could you tell with Cid stumbling all over the place?" A joke, but she would never let the pilot hear her say such a thing. She loved him so. She loved all of them.

He smiled faintly. "I could tell." She returned the smile in appreciation, and he decided it was safe to continue; it was a far better alternative to silence, which might have her walk away, assuming that they were finished talking. "Perhaps sometime...you and I should try it."

She tilted her head, curious at his implication. "You mean like Cid and I did tonight?"

He shook his head. "We'll go somewhere else. Dinner, maybe..." He dared to look back at her. She was grinning, and her eyes were flashing with something not unlike excitement, but perhaps closer to wonder.

"Vincent. Are you asking me on a date?"

"...I suppose I am." His eyes stayed on hers. "Do you accept?"

She nodded in wholehearted agreement. "I do."

Just several feet away from them, Cid came upon Yuffie's hiding place. She was sitting on a box against the wall next to the restrooms, staring at the two of them like a lioness in wait. He startled her, and a look crossed her face like that of a child, caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"The hell you been?"

She all but ignored him. "I've been here all night. What do you want?"

From her vantage point, he could tell that she'd been watching Vincent for most of the evening, if indeed she had been there the whole night. Her crush was obvious to everyone around her, and had appeared childish once Vincent had firmly, but tactfully, made it clear that he did not feel the same way. He felt it was best not to mention it. "I jes' figured you'd've gotten into more trouble 'n that by now."

"Oh," she grinned, "I locked all of the ladies' bathroom stalls from the inside, hid the tissue paper, and covered the bottoms of the sinks with paper towels."

Cid made a face of disgust. "How did y' get out, if y' locked..." A mental picture of Yuffie scrambling across a dirty floor presented itself in his mind. "Ne'ermind. I dun' wanna know." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall before adding, "Twisted li'l shit."

She folded her arms behind her head. "I was bored."

**End**

_Final Fantasy VII and its characters © 1997 Square-Enix Co., Ltd._


End file.
